


To Walk On Sundays

by filthybonnet



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 16:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: As Christine and Erik settle into their new life as husband and wife as a normal couple with a little house in Paris, not below the Opera House, Erik finds the courage to engage in something so simple: go for a walk with his wife in the daylight.





	To Walk On Sundays

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came from a line from Leroux's actual novel: “It’s impossible for me to continue living like this, in the depths of the earth, in a hole, like a mole! Don Juan Triumphant is finished; now I want to live like everybody. I want to have a wife like anyone else, and we shall go for walks on Sundays..." Inspiration was also found from a beautiful piece of fanart by @coatntails on tumblr in which I borrow the name of for my story.

Christine knocked on the music room door, “Erik, are you ready?”

Erik sat on the piano bench his hands shaking, “I’ve changed my mind, I was a fool to believe I could go through with this.”

She let herself in to find her husband sitting, facing away from the door. It was not locked, that was a start. She gently laid her hand on his shoulder, “Let me see, Erik. We didn’t get this made for you to sulk around the house. I didn’t get this new walking dress to pace the halls.”

He took a deep breath and turned around, “They’re going to think me a medical oddity all over again and laugh. It will humiliate you, Christine. You will regret bringing this ghoul out of the shadows and attaching yourself to it.”

Christine studied her husband’s face. They had spent a significant sum, at her insisting, on a custom-made prosthetic mask. The artist shaped the copper to fit his face perfectly; covering his deformities and giving him a proper nose. They painted it to match is skin tone; not the healthy peachy pink known to most, but Erik’s deathly, pale yellow. It clung to his face by a pair of wire rim glasses placed firmly over his ears. They even put in tinted lenses to hide and shield his golden eyes from the sun.

Her lips curved up in a large smile as she placed her hands on his cheeks, “Oh Erik, nobody will ever know! Put your hat on and they will only see a man walking with his wife on Sunday.”

Behind the tinted lenses tears welled up in his eyes, “Don’t be cruel, Christine.”

“I’m not. Come.” 

She took his shaking hand and led him into the bedroom, to her vanity. It was the only mirror in the house and she kept it covered with black cloth, as if the house was in mourning, when she wasn’t using it. She removed the cloth and let Erik see his face. He flinched, his initial reaction to a mirror regardless. After a few seconds of standing still, he lifted his hands to the mask and touched it. One of the tears rolled down the mask. He turned from the mirror.

“This mask was a terrible idea! You can see a real man and will never want to see your real husband again! I cannot blame you but it breaks my heart! This mask is better than any other I have worn. I will have to sleep in this in order not to give you fright shall you wake up in during the night!”

His mood was turning. Christine took a deep breath as she put the cloth back over the mirror. She touched the mask with both hands, “I have gazed upon you before, this shall not stop it...”

“Gaze! Only gaze!” He clinched his hands into fists. “I take my mask off in the dark when we go to bed! You look away in the morning before it is on! You are ashamed that you still find me so physically repulsive!”

“You know that is not true!” Christine’s frustration was growing but she would not let it win. She moved her fingers down to Erik’s thin lips. “You know what this mask is for, it is to show you that you are worthy of what you want. Get your gloves and your hat, I will be waiting by the door.”

She gracefully left the room, her bustle shaking slightly. Erik watched. He wanted this more than anything. He removed his gloves and top hat from his wardrobe. He sat them on the vanity before pulled the black cloth off the mirror. The Opera Ghost watched himself as he adjusted his black top hat to hide his thin hair and put on his black gloves to disguise his boney fingers. His outfit complete, he contemplated his reflection. He almost looked normal. He didn’t like no being able to see his wedding band. Erik removed the gloves tossing them on top of the black cloth before leaving the room.

“Forgive for not informing you how beautiful your new dress is and lovely you look in it, my dear,” Erik smiled as he approached his wife. “The combination of Emerald and Azure is becoming against your skin.”

Christine smiled back at her husband as she took his bare left hand. She gently rubbed his wedding band, “I am glad you didn’t wear the gloves. You will love the way the sun reflects off your gold band.” She walked back over to the door and removed a parasol from the umbrella container. “I got a new parasol. A large one, big enough for two. You will have to hold it, if we want to shield the sun.”

“You may carry it, my dear but I would like to feel the sun.”

His wife opened the door and stepped outside first. Erik closed the door behind him and turned his face to the light of day. Despite the tinted lenses he squinted his yellow eyes. He inhaled the fresh air as he turned his face towards the sky. People walked by their steps not even turning their heads slightly. He noticed they didn’t look. Christine looked up at him and smiled.

Erik offered his arm, “Shall we go, Madame?”

The Opera Singer took The Opera Phantom’s arm and they walked down the street at a leisurely pace. The Paris streets bustled with people walking, carriages rushing past, a couple also out for stroll looked their way. The gentleman tipped his hat. Erik fumbled but he raised his hand to his head and tipped his hat in return. He suddenly wished he had worn his wig. His heart pounded in his chest as they continued past the couple and nothing happened.

“Is there anywhere specific you want to see or go?” Christine asked.

“It is all so bright, animated, alive. I do not what to do with it.”

“We can always go to…” Christine hesitated. “The morgue window.”

Erik stopped walking and took both if Christine’s hands into his, “Oh no, no, no! None of that now! That is behind us, this me is being a man who is worthy of a wife who will walk with him on Sunday.”

Christine looked down and saw both their wedding bands glint. She pulled Erik’s hands to her lips and kissed them before speaking, “Look, aren’t our rings beautiful?”

He smiled large but felt a tear in his eye as he looked at their hands and their rings, “For there to be beauty in the darkness there must also be beauty in the light.” He let go of one of her hands and continued their stroll. “Shall we walk along Seine? I want to see its waters as blue instead of deep black is it under the moon.”

Christine rested her head against his arm, “That sounds lovely.” 

The couple walked to a bridge and then halfway across it and looked down at the water. Erik took the parasol from Christine’s hand and opened it, holding it up so it shielded them both from the sun. He wrapped his other around her waist as they watched the boats go to and fro. Some pigeons landed near them on the banister and cooed to each other softly. 

“Rehearsals for our next production start next week,” Christine rested her head against her husband’s arm again. “Will you be watching?”

“Of course. From my usual location. If you will need the assistance of ‘The Angel of Music’ for practice, he will gladly oblige.” 

Christine sighed and smiled, “I know. May we get a pastry before we return home?”

“If you so desire,” Erik closed the parasol and took her arm again.

They continued their walk along a row of shops. Erik caught his reflection along with others in the shop windows. He looked _almost_ like all of them, no wonder nobody gave him a second glance. They were preoccupied or busy with their own issues. The couple entered the bakery, Christine picked out a couple of tarts, Erik removed his coin purse from his pocket and paid as the tarts were bagged. 

Christine watched her husband’s face as they turned around and walked home. He watched the birds, the carriages, but his mood seemed to have turned. When they finally reached the door of their little house, they entered it silently. Once inside, Erik leaned against the hall wall, gasping for air, his hat in his hands.

“Oh Christine, it was too much! Too much! So much life! So much commotion! I am not meant for this world!” And with that dramatic declaration, he headed towards their bedroom. 

She sighed and followed him into the room. He sat on the bed and looked at her, “It was so cruel, Christine! I looked just like everyone else. People walked passed us and didn’t even give me a second glance. This is what it feels like to be a normal man. I am ruined! I have tasted the forbidden fruit!”

Christine sat down next to her husband, “You are a normal man, Erik. A man who has a house above ground, a wife and can now go for a walk on Sunday. A man who no longer has to hide in the shadows.”

“But I am not! A normal man would not need this mask to feel that way!” 

She lifted her hands to his new mask, gently lifted the wire rims from around his ears, pulling his prosthetic mask away from his face. He lifted his hands to stop her, but he froze in mid motion. Christine sat the mask gently on the nightstand before turning back to her husband. She stared deeply into his golden eyes as she lifted her hands to his face. She caressed his boney cheeks and wiped away the tears that dropped from his eyes with her thumbs. 

“Oh, Erik a mask that gives you the confidence to blend in does not make you normal. Giving up the darkness of your past sins is what makes you normal. Having a nice little house, a respectful job and a wife who loves you dearly is what makes you normal. Having what every man is worthy of, is what makes you normal.”

She leaned in her lips meeting her husband’s thin lips passionately. Erik gathered her up in his arms, holding her tight as if she would fade away. When he pulled away from the kiss he looked at her and smiled.

“I am also finally a normal man because I indulge in the pleasures of the flesh. Thank you, my Angel.” 

Christine gave a knowing smile as Erik leaned in and kissed her again. 

“Shall we walk again next Sunday?” Erik whispered in her ear after he ended the kiss.

“I would love to; I just hope my husband invites me,” Christine responded a smirk on her face.

**Author's Note:**

> Erik's prosthetic mask is based off masks that were made for wounded French WWI soldiers who came home with facial damage. Only a small percentage of soldiers got these masks because they were custom made and because they took a lot of ware and tear none of them remain today. I know post WWI is way after POTO's time era, but all the materials the masks were made of were available during the novel's era so I took the liberties. Read about them here: https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/08/the-first-face-transplants-were-masks/375527/
> 
> Christine mentions they could go to the Morgue Window. In mid-late 19th century Paris, going to the morgue was a popular pass time. It had large windows and the bodies that were brought in were put on display for identification. However most people went for the morbid curiosity and the possibility of seeing some criminal activity. Read about it here: https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/paris-morgue-public-viewing


End file.
